How Far We've Come
by zealousfreak27
Summary: Sherlock grapples between his feelings for John and the aching, dangerous chasm of his mind, and John just doesn't want Sherlock to change. Sequel to 'It Just Makes Sense' but it is not necessary to have read it first.


**AN/ Back from my vacation. I actually _wrote this out on paper_ and then typed it up. What has this fandom done to me? **

** I know nothing about the legal system in Britain. I pretty much fudged my way through most of this... Please suspend disbelief - it's only fanfiction!**

**Warning: Non-graphic yet lengthy mentions of sex. Fluff angsty angst angst angst fluff then more angst. I think I actually wrote a darker, more IC Sherlock this time. Also not as funny as I've made my previous work. This ended up less of a clearing-Sherlock's-name-fic as I'd intended and more of a character study. Blame the muse.**

* * *

It is all strangely domestic now. It was before, with their armchairs and mugs and takeout and arguments. That's all still an element of their relationship, of course. Sherlock wouldn't have liked it if they couldn't return to what they had before, but it's different now. Better.

There are light kisses passed between them for no reason other than that they can. Squeezes on the arm. Sherlock's new favorite activity; cuddling on the couch. John lets - no, not just lets, enjoys - Sherlock wrapping around him and rubbing his face into his hair.

He also lies completely still when Sherlock asks and allows Sherlock to run his hands over every inch of his body, deducing, absorbing and learning everything he can about his John. Sherlock wants to know everything about him, to fuse them together until they are one. It's amazing to him that no matter how much he learns about John, the infuriatingly wonderful man still manages to surprise him.

They quarrel. That hasn't changed either. In only the first week of being back at Baker Street they had two rows. Not flaming ones, nothing with any real bitterness to it. But they're rows nonetheless. Sherlock still enjoys baiting John, although he knows this is probably Not Good. He loves the reactions he gets.

There are two things that keep Sherlock from complete bliss. The first is waiting. He knows he must wait until the perfect moment with perfect evidence to go out into the world and clear his name. He fears that the novelty of his relationship with John will wear off and he'll be bored, stuck with no cases.

He may be having an affair but he still loves his marriage.

It's important to him. He needs the Work for several reasons. It keeps him from going crazy in the expanse of his mind, from turning to drugs. It pulls John and him closer. He wonders, at times, if John is more important to him than the Work. (It feels like this is something he should know.) He is afraid of the answer. (If he _had _to chose... John. This is ridiculous - )

He must get cases soon. He can't stand the thought of growing bored of John. It seems inconceivable to him, but he knows it is possible. He hadn't ever really grown bored of their friendship, but now everything is stretched and he has nothing to keep him occupied. So perhaps it would not be growing bored of John, but rather bored of life. Ot would not be John's fault, never his fault.

He also worries about driving John away. He hadn't been able to before, but these sort of relationships are more fragile. Sherlock is no romantic.

This leads to Sherlock's other problem. He and John are sharing John's bed now (Sherlock does not sleep more than he did before but he has nothing better to do than watch John sleep), and John is having persistent nightmares. Sometimes they are about Afghanistan and sometimes about Sherlock's fall. Sherlock is always there to confirm his existence but he doesn't know what to say. He'll kiss him (John has informed him that he's gotten much better at kissing. This made Sherlock feel inordinately proud of himself) and pull John to him, but words do not come easily. Platitudes and reassurances sound weak and false in his ears.

He also feels guilty as he never has, for John is suffering due to his actions. It was necessary, he knows, but emotions are not logical in the least.

A small, horrible part of Sherlock hates the way he feels all the time now. A spare glance at John will have his heart racing. It is something he spent most of his life avoiding, this _love_. He takes comfort in the fact that he can squash that part of his mind fairly easily. It is illogical, but he needs John as he needs oxygen, and John is not boring as breathing is. Sherlock is going in loops in his head, trying to make sense of everything and put it in catagories but that is impossible.

The rest of him simply enjoys the happiness he experiences with John. He never imagined enjoying physical intimacy as much as he does, but this is John. Not only sex (Sherlock has a low sex drive that he's spent most of his life ignoring) but just enjoying one another's bodies. Sometimes they will touch each other for hours, without even one caress being sexual. John makes Sherlock feel so loved that it heals some part of him that he never knew existed.

Sex is not bad. Sherlock knows that most people on the planet would say that description is insane, but it is a step up from Sherlock's previous opinion: disgusting, a waste of time, and unsanitary.

John had never had sex with a man and Sherlock had never had sex at all (thank god that John loves him and is patient and completely non-judgemental of his virginity - he knows it is atypical for someone of his age but even the concept has disgusted him for years), so naturally it was messy and confusing at first. Sherlock derives pleasure from it, but has never particularly cared for physical pleasure anyway. He mostly sits back, lets John control, and enjoys being so close to his beloved. It is wonderful to give John pleasure and the entire experience is better than he would ever have imagined.

The thing that comforts him the most about the whole ordeal is how accommodating John is. He hadn't even been sure at first that Sherlock would ever want to have sex (Sherlock shoving him onto the bed and sucking at his neck had changed that), and still he does nothing unless Sherlock is comfortable. They don't have sex more than once or twice a week usually. Sherlock knows that if he decided to never have sex again (he won't - it's a privilege to be able to do this with John and he cringes from the thought of anyone else trying) his lover would stay regardless.

John even puts up with the occasional experiment in bed, though he threatened to "kick Sherlock's arse into next week" after Sherlock continually got him aroused and then left the room to play violin. John does not appreciate teasing.

He does appreciate Sherlock being what he calls "sweet." Sherlock has no idea what that means and when he tries it doesn't seem to work. Then he won't even be thinking about it and he'll say something simple and true, like that he thinks he'll die if John ever leaves him. He'd just been stating a fact but it had had John sucking his face off in second and whispering things like, "I love you, you berk," and, "Like I would ever leave."

He didn't quite understand it then, and he still doesn't now. He'd asked Mrs Hudson but sadly she had not been helpful. Her advice was to tell John he loves him more often.

Sherlock... can't. He's counted the number of times John has said it. Twenty-one now, discounting the amount said while he's asleep with good dreams; that happens quite often. The best thing about how John saying it is how achingly honest it is.

Sherlock thinks that John knows how much he is loved by Sherlock and he's saving the first time he'll say it out loud instead of just "I feel the same way" for something special. Or perhaps he is simply a coward.

* * *

()

* * *

John Watson will admit to being happier than he has ever been in his life.

He is also, in his opinion, the luckiest man alive. To be this close to the man he loves, to be with him as he'd never dreamed... Life is very nearly perfect.

He wishes that they could go out without Sherlock in disguise. He wants to show him off to the world, to prove how much this man is loved, to others and Sherlock himself. He wants to show the world how wrong they were about Sherlock. He'll deal with homophobes and raised eyebrows. He will love Sherlock through anything.

But it's not possible yet. The Holmeses have their little talks that John is _naturally_ not allowed to take part in (hasn't he proved himself?), and he's sure that the waiting is needed. Doesn't make him happy that they've been stewing in Baker Street for almost two months now.

Sherlock has compiled more than enough evidence to clear his name. That had only taken about two weeks. They'd never truly had anything on him; it was the general public's opinion that had been swayed. Nothing official. It had been more than enough for Moriarty's plan.

But if Sherlock had ever been truly investigated, the case wouldn't have stuck. As John had previously thought, it was too ridiculous to be believed. Sherlock was solving cases back when he was a druggie. He'd solved cases that were cold for over twenty years that he could not possibly have carried out himself. Even without Mycroft's help, it would only have been a matter of time for them to blow any accusations out of the water.

The thing that had Sherlock under scrutiny in the first place was the little girl from the abduction case screaming. Sherlock knows how that was managed; the drug from the Baskerville case ("No doubt Moriarty found that amusing," Sherlock had said) and copious photographs of Sherlock. They had no real way to prove that, but with the other evidence it was not likely to be important. Besides, they could speak to the girl if they needed to.

So it is with minimal amount of trepidation that he prepares to walk into the Met with Sherlock hovering beside him.

Lestrade knew they were coming, but they agreed that it was for the best that he act as though he knew no more about it than anyone else, to keep him from any suspicion.

The first person to recognize Sherlock was Sally Donavon. John can say that he still holds a grudge against her, although she'd had the grace to at least act regretful for her part in Sherlock's death.

After the general shock, the officers are quick to slap cuffs on John's boyfriend. He tells himself that Mycroft can get them out of any bad situation and tries to relax.

The chief superintendent is called and so John ends up arrested as well. He'd cinned the man, after all. Sherlock runs through a highly edited version of how he survived, very pointedly ignoring questions about how he spent his time.

Mouths drop open as everything is explained and Sherlock pulls out the damning evidence. Damning for those listening, that is. It becomes very clear that everyone is feeling patently stupid and guilty. The first is a common feeling when one is around Sherlock Holmes, the second is not.

Very soon, it is accepted that Sherlock Holmes is not, in fact, a fraud. John knows that the press is going to be a nightmare but he takes a moment to revel in this moment.

Still, they had escaped the police and evaded them. That's still a crime, although it's not likely to stick as Sherlock was wrongly accused.

They're to be put in holding cells. John had had a feeling that this would happen. He ignores the stares, grabs the front of Sherlock's shirt, and kisses him before being led away.

* * *

()

* * *

They are not allowing Sherlock back on cases. It had been the superintendent's choice but everyone seemed to agree.

He'd foreseen the shock, the arrest and release. He'd even guessed that John would kiss him in front of everyone. But he'd never imagined that people could be this colossally stupid. Perhaps his relationship with John has infected him with optimistic foolery.

Now they are hiding in Baker Street again, this time from the press. Headlines such as "Sherlock Holmes Alive - And Wronged" and "Richard Brook Did Not Exist" have overtaken the newspapers and reporters follow him more avidly than ever before. Not surprisingly, Kitty Riley has been sacked.

Now he does not even have the clearing of his name to focus on. He is going to go insane, slowly.

The boredom sets in on the second day. John is doing his best to keep him occupied; he's tried to get him interested in experiments, has called Lestrade to bring them cold cases, reads to him, and kisses him very often. The cases are the only thing that offer any distraction at all. At this rate he'll be begging to work for Mycroft.

When he feels that he is going to explode, he knows that his ennui is becoming dangerous. When he first lashes out at John, he knows that it has to end.

John had been trying to cheer him up, as ever. He'd made Sherlock risotto and found him articles about mould cultures. Sherlock's head was screaming and needed release - dear god he wanted cocaine - and he'd refused to eat and had actually torn the articles apart like a child.

John had taken his shaking hands and tried to soothe him, to kiss him. The look of hurt in his eyes when Sherlock pushed him away would only make him feel guilty later.

He knows this is no way to act when one is in a relationship. Knows that he is endangering everything that he built with John. Knows that he's hurting John, something that he never wanted to do.

He's never hated his mind as much as he does now. It's good for nothing, at the moment, except for coming between him and John. What is the point of it, stewing away in Baker Street doing nothing?

He resigns himself to calling Mycroft and only gets a lecture about "treating John right" and a vague "I'll tell you if anything pops up."

John is sad and concerned all the time now. Sherlock hates it and doesn't know what to do. John is bearing all of this beautifully although he imagines that this must be as hard for him as it is for Sherlock. Every time Sherlock snaps at him or leaves John to sleep by himself or destroys John's belongings, a little piece of John seems to die. He smiles as much as he ever did, but there is a stretched, fake quality to it which Sherlock loathes. He loathes that John has to fake anything; John is one of the only genuine people he knows and he doesn't want that to change, he wants nothing about John to change.

John never complains or even overtly shows how bothered he is by all of it. The day that Sherlock hears him crying - _sobbing_ - to Mrs Hudson, he knows something is going to break. John never cries - or that's what he'd thought.

The next day, John approaches Sherlock, and he braces himself. He doesn't blame John. He can't blame him for wanting to leave after all this, after how much Sherlock has managed to hurt him.

So when John smiles at him and says, "You're allowed to work cases again, Sherlock," he is absolutely floored.

He stares at John for three seconds and that is long enough to come to three conclusions.

The first is that they wouldn't just change their minds. No one at the Yard wanted to be proved wrong and none of them particularly liked Sherlock, excluding Lestrade.

The second is formed from the first; someone changed their minds. He would say Mycroft, Lestrade and anyone who was grateful for his assistances on cases but judging from John's body language, he had something to do with it as well. He is obviously hiding something.

The third is that he truly does not deserve John Watson in any capacity.

He stands frozen for several moments, trying to ascertain what he should do to make things right, to erase how close he came from losing John forever.

He pushes John against the nearest wall and asks lowly, in a tone he knows John enjoys, "And how did this come about?"

John is still looking at him happily, as if he is the lucky one. "I think Mycroft pulled some strings, and Lestrade's been lobbying for you from the start..." He trails off when Sherlock presses his lips to his neck.

"But what," Sherlock growls, "did you do?"

John gasps and pushes Sherlock off him. He's flushed but slightly concerned-looking, and it occures to Sherlock that the way to fix this is probably not sex, no matter how excellent.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," John says, but he's really never been able to lie to Sherlock. He's probably suffering under some sort of notion that he did what he did for Sherlock, not for praise. Sherlock wants to know anyway; he always wants to know, especially knowledge pertaining to his John.

Sherlock grabs his arm before he can escape to the bathroom. "Your body language says that you're trying to hide something from me. You come with good news and give the credit to other people, even though you obviously had something to do with it so tell me," and he shakes John, "what did you do?"

And suddenly, everything freezes in a moment of clarity and he realizes that he is not fixing anything. He sees the actions he is carrying out clearly. He is not discovering whatever lovely thing John has done for him and then apologizing and making things right. He is towering over John, using his larger body to intimidate while shaking him and shouting. He should be kissing John and begging him not to leave. What is he doing?

He lets go of John and they stare at one another for a moment, both breathing heavily. Sherlock abruptly drops his gaze, no longer able to hold the smaller man's gaze and runs from the room, consumed with self-disgust.

From Lestrade he learns that John apologized personally to the chief superintendent and vouched for Sherlock. Mycroft handled the rest. Sherlock thanks Lestrade, somewhat in shock and hangs up the phone.

He doesn't know what to do. He takes a walk through London after donning a disguise and tries to figure out what he must do to make things right again.

* * *

()

* * *

John combs a finger through his hair and sighs. Well, so much for Sherlock instantly feeling better and sweeping John off his feet. He supposes he's asking for too much.

He shakes his head to clear it of such bitter thoughts. Sherlock can't help who he is and John doesn't want him to change at all.

He'd apologized to the chief superintendent and it had worked. The man was a bit thick and prejudiced but not really a cruel person. John had made him see how much good Sherlock had done and could do. Sherlock missed the work and so did John. It was the most natural thing to do and not really humiliating to him at all. He had wanted to keep it a secret from Sherlock but that was, in retrospect, ridiculous.

He really hopes that Sherlock's reaction didn't mean that the reason that he'd been pushing John away for weeks now was not due to having nothing to keep him busy and more to do with getting tired of John. He hopes.

He also wants Sherlock back at work so he can work as well. It's good that he's been able to stay home and take care of Sherlock but he'd rather not be dependent on Mycroft forever.

He's really exhausted, now that he thinks of it. He passes out as soon as he lies down on the bed shared by Sherlock and himself.

* * *

Later, he is woken by a warm streak along his back. He's surprised that Sherlock is snuggled into the bed next to him. His arms are wrapped tight around him and his head is tucked against his neck. John smiles and kisses him lightly, then goes back to sleep.

* * *

The next day starts out strange and goes from there.

He wakes to Sherlock trying to shove food down his throat. John is the resident cook, so his eyebrows raise at the bacon and eggs that lie so tantalizingly before him. Really? Sherlock, the breakfast in bed type?

"What's all this then?" he asks Sherlock.

Sherlock answers briskly. "I didn't know your powers of observation were that impaired." It might be John's imagination, or did he flinch after saying all that?

"Well, I know it's food, but why's it here?"

Sherlock straightens. "For you to eat."

John sits up and pulls the tray towards him. "I didn't know you could cook."

"It's a lot like chemistry."

John glares at him, a thought having occurred to him. "It's not drugged, is it? Is this an experiment?"

Sherlock looks as though he's been horribly wronged. "No!"

John isn't that hungry but it does look very good and Sherlock almost looks like he'll burst into tears if John doesn't eat. "Have you eaten lately?" he inquires as he begins to eat.

"Yes," replies Sherlock, and John decides not to push it. He'll make him eat later.

It's a little hard to eat with Sherlock staring at him so intensely, but he manages. He stands to take his dishes to the kitchen, but Sherlock snatches them and carries them away himself.

Later he's sitting on the sofa contemplating getting a job again - he's been laid off at the clinic after missing so many days, but he can find work elsewhere - when Sherlock flops over him and starts kissing him quite emphatically.

This is not too unusual as Sherlock has always favored cuddles on the sofa, but the cup of tea he made for John is new. He can't say that it isn't nice, so he decides to enjoy it.

Sherlock has never thrown himself into sex like this before and John is unspeakably sated afterwards as he sips his tea. He is really beginning to suspect that Sherlock is pulling some sort of experiment, but if this is what he's getting out of it, he's not going to complain too loudly.

By the second day of Sherlock acting like some love-drunk teenager, John is starting to worry. He could understand and sympathize with Sherlock's earlier craziness but this is unprecedented. It hadn't been pleasant for John to deal with Sherlock's mad, explosive genius but at least he'd known the cause.

Sherlock has bought him three jumpers of varying price despite past claims of derision for John's fashion choices. He has not started any experiments (that John knows of) nor has he destroyed anything. Sherlock hasn't even tried to get back to cases though it's true that Lestrade hasn't called yet. He has made John five meals, initiated sex twice (more than they've had in weeks), and told John he loves him seven times. It's really the last one that feels unnatural the most.

It's nice sometimes, he won't deny it. He feels loved and wanted, all the time. But it doesn't feel real. It isn't Sherlock and that is bothering him.

When Sherlock calls him 'sweetheart' he decides that things have really gone too far.

He corners Sherlock and demands, "Tell me what's going on!"

Sherlock is wearing his most innocent face as he says, "I was just making lunch."

"That's exactly what I mean! In what world would Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes stoop so low as to make lunch?"

Sherlock leans down to kiss him and says, "A world in which I love you." John almost shudders when Sherlock's lips press against his own.

John glares at him. "This isn't you Sherlock. What the hell is going on?"

Sherlock sighs and starts to walk away. Before John can get indignant, Sherlock beckons for him to follow.

He joins Sherlock on the couch and lets Sherlock arrange him however it pleases him. This is not new to John and he's comfortable with it.

Sherlock, however, looks uncomfortable, so John starts. "Look, Sherlock, I just want you to be yourself."

Sherlock goes rigid at that. "Oh yes, _be myself_," he sneers. "Did you like it when I _was myself_ over the past two months? Did you enjoy me pushing you away and snapping at you?"

John's eyes widen in surprise as he realizes what all of this is. Then he starts laughing.

Sherlock glares at him, so John stops and says, "You are an idiot of the first class, Sherlock Holmes."

"What do you mean?"

John sighs and tries to think of the best way to explain. An idea strikes him. "Did I ever tell you how lovely your arse looks in the trousers your wearing today?" he asks, trying to sound casual.

Sherlock looks confused and vaguely disgusted. "What?"

"Oh yes. And I don't think I've ever mentioned how shaggable you look after you take a shower."

"Stop it!" Sherlock orders and looks even more confused at John's smile of victory.

"Why?" John asks, stealing Sherlock's innocent voice from before.

"Because - you don't talk like that, John!"

"Yeah, there's not much dirty talk in out relationship. But why does it bother you so much?"

A look of comprehension dawns on Sherlock's face. "This is a ridiculous way to prove a point, John."

"But it worked, didn't it? I don't dirty talk and you don't flatter me, fatten me up and tuck me into bed at night."

"But you liked it, didn't you?"

John decides that this is a perfect moment for a kiss and leans over to give one. He pulls back after a moment and says, "Not as much as I like you."

Sherlock looks frustrated so John continues, "When we... got together, you warned me. I could have gone running then. I knew you. I knew this would be hard, and I'm still here. I don't want you to change, Sherlock."

"But you don't like how I've treated you." Sherlock sounds very lost.

"Of course not. I'm not going to lie; it hurt. But I understood it, it's over now, and I would like you to act like you always did. It's actually really good that you know you hurt me and you've been trying to fix it, in your own way. From now on you can communicate, alright? If you feel guilty over how you've acted, just apologize."

Sherlock fidgets. "I'm not very good at communicating."

"I'm aware of that." John snuggles into Sherlock's hold. "This is a good start."

He feel Sherlock's lips against his hair and smiles. "I speak Sherlock too, you know. This says plenty."

He hears something whimpered against his neck. "What was that?"

"'M sorry, John."

"Always nice to hear, but it's really okay, Sherlock."

"I have to try harder. This has to work, John. I can't lose you because of my behavior or anything else." Sherlock's voice sounds suspiciously shakey.

"Hey, it's okay," John soothes. "I won't leave for anything."

"But it's not okay!" This is not good. Sherlock rarely becomes this inarticulate. "I would rip apart anyone who made you cry like I did!"

"See, I do speak your language enough to translate that to something sweet." He kisses Sherlock carefully.

Sherlock takes a deep breath and says in a rush, "I love you, John."

John smiles, amused. "I know. You've said it enough."

"But I haven't been being... real."

"Not just the past few days. You say it every time we kiss and every time you play violin pieces that you know I like. I speak your strange, genius language, remember? You wouldn't be in a relationship if it was meaningless." He settles back into Sherlock's arms. "It is nice to hear, but only when you mean it, alright?"

Sherlock nods slowly and then smiles.

They watch crap telly together, Sherlock making his usual comments and John laughing at them. They order Chinese and discuss getting back to cases and normality.

They climb into bed together that night, John happier than he's been in months.

When he wakes in the morning, he is fairly sure that Sherlock didn't sleep all night, because he had distinct impressions of sweet words being whispered in his ears while he slept.

_I'm yours. I love you. We have to stay together. You're the only one who excepts me for me, John. You don't always understand me but you let me be me. And I love your for that and for you being you._

Perhaps it is his subconscious, but Sherlock is obviously very tired and his deep voice is hoarse.

They lock hands, ready to face the world. Together.

* * *

**AN/ And that was not what I had planned at all, but I hope it's good anyway!**

**I'll be back to play in this fandom soon although this 'verse is finished now.**


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